


Still With Hearts Beating

by Merit



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Recovery, post-Abhorsen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7765678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/pseuds/Merit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lirael heals after the battle with the Destroyer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still With Hearts Beating

After the Destroyer had been bound, the Royal Family and Lirael had retreated to the Abhorsen's House. The House's sendlings had descended en masse when they arrived, a home coming, a celebration even when Lirael was white with blood loss, with shock.

The Dog was gone, she thought dully, staring down at the space where her hand had been. What a great Abhorsen-in-Waiting she had been and she bit her lip, turning her gaze to the window.

It still shocked her, slightly, windows. The Clayr's Glacier had them of course and it wasn't like Lirael never went outside. But the outside had been white and tall mountains, forbidding, a threat that the Glacier would not give up the Clayr so easily.

At the Abhorsen's House, with the sound of rushing water a constant reminder that they teetered on a tiny island, the Kingdom stretched out. Fields, villages and an odd necromancer and their horde of Dead. Lirael breathed out, thinking of hot air and sticky reeds, and Sam's friend, scrawny and naked. She blushed, hotly, clenching her hand. He had gone back to Ancelstierre as well.

The Abhorsen's House was alive with the sound of the Royal Family and if Lirael mostly stayed to her room, well, she was recovering. She wasn't hiding. She had placed the soapstone dog on the bed side table. Lirael stared at it sometimes, but there wasn't a trace of Charter or even Free Magic, nothing that was Dog.

Ellimere knocked. She didn't wait for Lirael to say anything, but marched in, a smart smile on her face. She was the first to leave, speaking of court and responsibilities Lirael vaguely remembered from history lessons.

“I really have to go,” Ellimere said, straightening her surcoat very matter of factly. She gave Lirael a warm smile and reached out and squeezed her hand.

It was times like these that Lirael was reminded, terribly, that she only had one hand. She had a dull steady ache where the hand had been. The sendings cleaned the wound daily; making pleased sounds when they noticed no infections had taken a hold. But she worried. How was she supposed to be a one handed Abhorsen-in-Waiting? She only remembered parts of the Book of the Dead, something that worried her before Sabriel had laughed, softly, and said the knowledge would be there when she needed it. But she remembered the Book of the Dead mentioned how a wielder could use two bells. Darkly, it had hinted the ability towield two bells was incredibly useful against many Dead.

Lirael had never been anything like an Abhorsen-in-waiting before, she never didn’t want to fail before she had even really started. With a start, she remembered that Ellimere was still there and probably expected a response. “I understand,” Lirael said quietly, “We all have our duties.”

Her thoughts mustn’t have shown in her face for Ellimere nodded at Lirael. “I will write,” she said seriously. “I will tell you about Belisaere, about the court and the people. Stuck up in the Glacier, you mustn’t have heard much?” Lirael shook her head. She supposed half caught conversations she had heard the traders having, or more solemn whispers between moonstone crowned cousins didn't quite count.

Ellimere’s smile broadened. “You’ll have a lovely time once you’re there. Everything has really come alive in the past few years,” she said and then laughed, slightly self consciously. Lirael's lips twisted involuntarily.

The House seemed quieter with Ellimere. Lirael lay back in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. After the sun had set and the moon had risen, she had taken the soapstone dog in her remaining hand, tracing the features and let self pitying tears fall down her face, because the Dog couldn't stop her now. She fell asleep like that and woke up with a clouded head and a dry mouth.

“The Dead do not rest,” Sabriel said a day later, looking sombre before shrugging ruefully. “I had hoped to stay longer. To teach you more...” she trailed off and then looked intently at Lirael. “The library is here and there's much to learn there.”

“Yes,” Lirael said, adjusting her covers, wanting to avoid Sabriel’s piercing stare. She knew what she looked like and while she would never be mistaken for Sabriel’s twin even if they had been the same age. But. They had enough similarities that it startled Lirael. She had spent nineteen years amongst the Clayr, the dark haired pale creature in the sea of blonde dark women. But Sabriel looked like her. They shared a kinship that was more than blood, it was one of the Bloods. “I read the Book of the Dead,” she murmured, “The first time I came here.”

“I've sadly neglected it,” Sabriel said, shaking her head rather ruefully. “Much was lost during the Interregnum.”

Lirael nodded. She had been born when Touchstone had just been crowned and the marriage of the King and Abhorsen had rushed to the Clayr. They had already known, of course, but it had been a polite gesture.

“When I return,” Sabriel said, “We shall talk more, do more. Unfortunately, while the Destroyer is bound, its legions still roam the Kingdom. They must be sent to Death. I will need your help with this Lirael,” Sabriel said, pressing a hand against Lirael’s shoulder. “It has been a long time since there was an Abhorsen and an Abhorsen-in-Waiting. I am glad it is you.”

Lirael was choked up. She coughed, turning her head away. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Touchstone was next, leaving scant hours after Sabriel. He shifted uneasily on his feet, never at home at Abhorsen’s House – king he may be, but this was no home without Sabriel. “There’s been a messenger hawk,” he said, looking carefully down at Lirael. “Trouble in the east. A Charter Stone was broken several weeks ago and it needs to be restored. The Dead still roam.”

She looked down at her fingers. Her knuckles were still bruised from the fight with the Destroyer, but she couldn’t remember how she had been injured. She didn’t know why King Touchstone was telling her this. She might be the Abhorsen-in-Waiting but she was still just Lirael. She was sure that Sam or one of the Sendings could have informed her.

“Thank you,” she said, inclining her head, the best she could do for a bow. No one wanted her out of the bed, at least not for a few more days. Her hand was not the only wound she had received.

“I was a soldier, before,” Touchstone said, looking kindly at her. “We weren’t at war, but I saw soldiers wounded. And after I came back,” he paused, a shadow passing his face and Lirael remembered tales of the king's rages, “I saw scores more. This will shape you, but it is not the end.”

Lirael’s eyes filled with tears and she nodded shakily at Touchstone. She smiled at him, hoping that could express her thanks, because she knew as soon as she opened her mouth she would let out a sob.

“You’re very different from Sabriel,” he said finally, “But you share something in your smile.”

After Touchstone closed the door behind him, Liraelstuffed a fist in her mouth and let the tears stream down her faces. This wasn’t pity, she told herself, thinking that the Dog would have bitten when she was particularly self-indulgent. She closed her eyes, brows shuttering, as she thought of the Dog, gone forever. She hadn’t just been the Dog, but Lirael hadn’t cared, as long as the Dog stayed by her side.

Sam left a few days later. He had been in and out of her room during their stay, a distant look on his face and a small notebook usually stuffed in his pocket. He had asked to take measurements of her hand and her stump, blushing and fidgeting with a pencil. He had taken her silence as assent and by the time Lirael had thought to protest, the measurements were half way over and it seemed pointless to argue.

“There’s something in Belisaere,” Sam muttered, putting his notebook back in one of his pockets. The sendings always seemed to hand him surcoats that had several small towers on them. She suddenly wished she knew more about sendings Lirael thought, longing for Great Library. The Abhorsen’s house might have a decent library but it wasn’t _her_ library. But she would have to get used to that. She was the Abhorsen-in-Waiting and she finally had purpose.

“Good journeys,” Lirael whispered. She still wasn’t used to _speaking_ so much. She rather looked forward to being alone again, only surrounded by silent Sendings. Though, she reconsidered, the Abhorsen’s Sendings were a very _pushy_ bunch.

“You should come too, soon,” Sam said suddenly. “You haven’t been to Belisaere before, have you?” Lirael shook her head. Clayr usually only left the Glacier after they had the Sight and only if a vision had led them there or if they were particularly adventurous. “Then you should come. Me and Ellimere will show you around. The people should see the new Abhorsen-in-Waiting as well,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking sheepish. “You’re going to be so much better than me.”

Lirael nodded though she felt uneasy about agreeing to Sam’s statement. She didn’t feel like very much of anything at the moment. She felt weary, deep to her bones. She missed the Dog. She missed having a snout shoved into her hand and her sweet companionship. She missed going on adventures in the Clayr Library with the Dog. She even, surprisingly, missed Nick. He had been hurried back to his home, far from the Kingdom and he probably wouldn’t ever want to visit again, not after his experiences. The Book of Dead didn’t scare her, but she wasn’t sure if she was up to the responsibilities. They all seemed so sure she would take to it.

She had nightmares that night. Twisted dreams, where the Destroyer hadn’t been bound, where the Glacier was under siege and the Clayr disappeared in the night, murdered messily by Free Magic creatures creeping up through the Library. Guilt lashed through Lirael and she whimpered as she desperately tried to save the Clayr, but she failed and the Destroyer was triumphant.

She woke slowly the next morning, feelings of dread seeping through her bones, as well as the feeling of being crushed. Lirael opened her eyes and saw a very fluffy Mogget calmly licking a paw in front of her. She opened her mouth, taking a deep breath and he inelegantly placed a paw over her mouth. Lirael spluttered, moving away from Mogget. She was still trying to get fur out of her mouth when he started speaking.

“Are you going to stay all day in bed?” He asked, his bright green eyes narrow slits, ancient and knowing.

Lirael pulled the blankets up and Mogget nimbly jumped to the side of the bed to avoid being dislodged. “I was, I was going to do some reading,” she murmured. “There’s a lot to learn.”

“Bah,” Mogget said, rolling his shoulders with scorn. “You should start fighting again. Better get used to this,” with that he nudged her stump with his pink nose, “Before it becomes too late.”

“Too late?” Lirael said, sitting up quickly. Mogget hissed at her and started to frantically lick his fur. “Are there Dead near by? Is Sabriel in danger?”

Mogget grunted. “No one’s in danger,” he said, peering at her through his fur and sounding slightly disappointed. “But things don’t stay still for long. And they won’t wait for you to get better.”

“Fighting you said,” Lirael said. She hadn’t even been that good with a sword before the Destroyer. “It’s not my strongest ability,” she admitted, letting her hair fall in her face. Mogget made a disgruntled noise and Lirael hurriedly hooked her hair behind her ears.

“No matter,” Mogget said, looking calm. “The king is one of the finest swordsman in the land.” He gave her pointed look. Lirael definitely felt that Mogget would not care for her sharing that information with the king. “He shall teach you.”

“He’s not here,” Lirael protested and then clamped her lips shut when Mogget gave her a stare with daggers in it.

“He should have returned to Belisaere by now,” Mogget continued, stretching next to Lirael. “I imagine he’ll send guards to escort you there.” His head tilted, “They’ll come in a few days.”

Lirael gaped. “What?” She exclaimed. “This is the first I’ve heard of this!”

Mogget opened one bright green eye. “Oh? Did I forget to give you the letter?” He yawned, settling in on Lirael’s bed. “You must have been resting...” He said drowsily, ears flattening as he curled up into a tight, white ball on her bed.

“Yes,” she said. But Mogget was sleeping and didn’t answer. Lirael sighed and flopped back onto her pillow, ruffling Mogget. He mustn’t have been sleeping that soundly, because he stretched out and dug one claw into Lirael’s knee. She hissed and glared at him. “This is my bed, you know.”

He didn’t respond.

 

* * *

 

Lirael stared down the waterfall, the spray drenching her hair and her clothes. Several feet away a few Sendings hovered. She tried to ignore them. She had never had this much trouble with the Clayr’s Sendings, she thought idly, as they’d been all sensibly interested in books. And maybe they had recognised that she wasn’t truly one of the Clayr.

But that shouldn’t matter, Lirael thought, clenching the handrail with her one remaining hand. She was the _Abhorsen-in-_ _W_ _aiting_. Hadn’t she wanted purpose? She was going to have it in bucket loads now. Lirael had fought the Destroyer because she had to, because the Clayr had seen her amongst the reeds and she would never quake in taking up her duty, but... she took a deep breath as she stared down at her wrist, the ending still catching her by surprise sometimes.

She had thought she was going to die. Lirael stared over the waterfall, remembering Death. The cold chill and the endless urge to surrender. She wondered if keeping the Dead away was the only reason the long gone Abhorsens had chosen this site. Maybe they had wanted a reminder.

She turned slowly away from the waterfall, not shivering when a spray hit her across her back.

 

* * *

 

The Abhorsen’s library was much smaller, to Lirael’s dismay. But she supposed the Abhorsens hadn’t been a large family since before the old Queen was killed with her daughters. They hadn’t needed a whole Glacier to colonise. Lirael ran her hand along the spines of the books, breathing in the old – very old – book smell. Her eyes widening occasionally as she read the titles. Some of these books were behind lock and key and chain and powerful Charter magic at the Great Library.

One book she only recognised because it had been Great Library lore, about a foolish Clayr who hadn't taken the proper precautions and had read a fragment and gone mad, spitting Free Magic. If she remembered correctly it had take three Charter mages to slay him, only one surviving to tell the tale. She moved on, the hair on the back of her neck pricked high.

Others were completely unfamiliar, but they felt powerful under her fingertips, powerful Charter magic. She slowly pulled a thin volume that was bound in red leather out of the shelves. The book then warmed. It could only be read by a Charter mage, Lirael realised, taking out the book. It fell easily into her grasp.

She supposed she could pass some of her time reading the _Arte of Sendings_.

Later, when yellow sunlight was brushing her eyelashes, she blinked open her eyes to find Mogget staring up at her. He looked with distaste at the book that had fallen into her lap.

“I really think there’s enough of them,” he said, shaking his head.

Lirael blinked slowly. “The Abhorsens who made them must have been very powerful,” she murmured, “I don’t recognise most of the marks even after reading this book.”

“It was a different time,” Mogget said, shrugging. If Lirael hadn’t been so used to the Dog and her very human gestures on a very dog body, she might have blinked. “Free Magic creatures ranged across the Kingdom when the Charter was first formed and the Abhorsens had to be strong to match. The other Bloods too. They never trusted me,” he said, giving off a strange cat like laugh. “They remembered more back then. _I_ remembered more. Things were more powerful. Especially when the Wallmakers were alive,” he continued thoughtfully. “And they’re back now, aren’t they?”

Lirael nodded slowly, thinking of Sam. Was he back in Belisaere now? Were they all back there? Mogget continued to watch her and Lirael felt a shiver go down her spine. She hadn’t flinched when she had stared down the waterfall but. Mogget went where he pleased, despite the form he chose, and he was as powerful as he was unpredictable

She didn’t know why he was keeping an eye on her, but she was going to keep an eye on him. Just in case.

 

* * *

 

Several days later a sending tugged at her surcoat and gestured for her to follow it. Lirael opened her mouth to protest but the sending was already dragging her forward. She nearly tripped as she chased after it. Mogget laughed, weaving between her feet, making the task that more difficult.

“And you wanted more of them?” he said.

“I didn’t say that,” Lirael muttered and came to a sudden stop when the sending let go of her surcoat. It seemed cheerful, looking up at Lirael as if it expected something. “Thank you,” Lirael said hesitantly and it rushed away, quick as a bee. Shaking her head, Lirael was suddenly aware that she was being watched. A messenger hawk gave her an imperious stare. Lirael had never had much experience with them – who would want to contact a Sightless girl who had never left the Glacier after all? She walked closer, slowly, and when she was close enough she heard Touchstone’s voice.

“Lirael? Two guards will arrive shortly. They’ll be escorting you to Belisaere. We – Sabriel and I – would love to fly a paperwing down but, uh,” there was a sound of clashing metal and Touchstone grunted before bellowing a war cry, “Not the best time.”

The message ended and the hawk snapped its beak, looking a bit indignant. Mogget hissed at it and Lirael flinched at the tang of Free Magic that was suddenly in the air. The hawk had retreated though and was eyeing Mogget with great suspicion, feathers ruffled up, Charter marks bright along its beak and claws. She looked at Mogget warily. He licked his paw without looking at her.

“You never caught me fish,” he said, looking up at her.

Lirael laughed hoarsely. “Can’t you do that yourself now?”

“Well,” he said, tilting his head in consideration. “Possibly.” With that he leapt out of the room. Lirael exchanged a glance with the hawk.

 

* * *

 

Two royal guards – Mylla and Rafe – met them at the other side of the stepping stones, to escort them to Belisaere. Lirael had shot Mogget a questioning stare once she reckoned they were allies, Touchstone's crown on their uniforms. Mogget yawned, already tucked safely in the bag on her bag and murmured they would be useful. Rafe shifted uneasily on his horse, probably remembering some dark tale about talking animals but the other guard had just straightened and gave Lirael a cool nod.

Lirael tested their Charter marks, which they submitted to without comment but Lirael froze when they touched hers. She blushed scarlet, hair falling into her eyes as she looked at the horse that was going to take her to Belisaere. The horse tossed her head and gave Lirael a rather unimpressed stare. This was not going to be fun, Lirael thought, clenching her fingers.

It was not fun.

Half way through the journey, Lirael stiffened in her saddle. Her horse sighed softly, already used to the strange movements of her new rider, but rather long suffering about it. Lirael turned slowly, peering through the a dense crop of trees.

“Is there is a village nearby?” Lirael murmured, clutching her reins tightly.

Mylla and Rafe exchanged a look.

“Yes,” Rafe said. “Around that copse of trees. A new settlement. It won't be on many maps.”

“There are Dead close by,” Lirael said. “Did they build around water?”

“A small stream, I believe, nothing fast,” Mylla said, shaking her head, disapproval clear in her tone.

Lirael bit her lip. Then turned her horse in the direction of where she thought the village would be, but where there were definitely Dead. The bells were heavy on her chest.

 

* * *

 

It took a few weeks to travel to Belisaere. “Longer than it should have taken,” spat Mogget, glaring at the two royal guards.

“The village needed us,” Mylla said determinedly. But even her face was grey and her kit travel stained. She was also nursing a nasty wound to her arm that would need to be seen once they arrived at the palace. “Without the Abhorsen-in-Waiting we would have all perished,” she added, shooting Lirael a thankful look.

“My duty,” Lirael said absent-mindedly, because once they had arrived in Belisaere, it was all she could do to gape. It was the biggest place she had ever seen and Lirael was still getting used to the idea of villages and towns. The Clayr’s Glacier was largely enclosed, to keep out the cold and ice, and while parts had been lost or forgotten nearly everything had been Seen and thus planned. Here, she hardly saw any planning. She hardly understood how people knew where they were going.

Houses were tall and short, a mix of styles from before the Interregnum, to so recent the newly whitewashed walls shone brightly in the sun. And that was nothing to be said of the people. People with light faces, dark faces, bright hair and elaborate twists. It was more than she had ever seen at the Glacier, where the travellers seemed to all wear the same heavy outerwear and all looked a bit rough from the travel up to the Glacier. She must have let her attention drift because when she felt a sharp claw in her neck she yelped. Instantly she noticed a boy standing near her, suspiciously so. Once he saw her stare, he grinned and vanished into the crowd.

“Thieves aren’t common on the Glacier, are they?” Mogget drawled into her ear.

“Thieves?” Lirael asked, sounding surprised. “We’re given everything we need and I could always work for something I really wanted. I don’t think they would have liked it if you stole, though,” Lirael shivered, thinking of some of the steely eyed Clayr who always kept a sword at their hips.

“Hmm,” Mogget grunted. “It is different here. Sometimes there isn’t enough. Sometimes people want more without having to work for it. Sometimes they’re forced. Of course,” his tone changing suddenly, “That’s what the hangman is for,” he said delightedly.

“Right,” Lirael said, shaking her head. She was now half the street length from the guards. They had paused in the middle of the street, causing several wagon drivers to curse at them. They ignored the remarks but Lirael’s ears were hot by the time she caught up to them. “Sorry,” she said, smiling apologetically at them. “I got caught staring.”

The guards had been looking tense, their swords loosened but once Lirael spoke they relaxed and nodded. “You probably won’t get much of a chance to explore,” Mylla said, sounding amused. “Once everyone knows about, um,” she gestured with her uninjured arm to Lirael’s chest. They had decided the night before that it would be wise for Lirael to cover her bells when she entered the city. The news of Lirael becoming the Abhorsen-in-Waiting was still unknown to most people, so they thought it best to wait until Sabriel officially announced it.

“Oh, yes,” Lirael said, she ran a hand over the bandolier, hidden by a heavy shawl. She kept her touch light, so not to stir the bells – it wouldn’t be good to let them ring, she thought grimly, in the middle of Belisaere, not unless it was _absolutely_ necessary – but Mylla and Rafe still flinched. She smiled apologetically at them. There was a lot of smiling and talking, Lirael noted. It was exhausting.

She was expected, the guards had told Lirael and Lirael had looked at Mogget. He had licked a paw delicately, deliberately not looking at her, and asked if anyone had a fish. Travel in the Kingdom had improved greatly since Touchstone came to power twenty years ago but the Destroyer had unleashed many Dead and no one had been sure when Lirael would exactly arrive. So there was no one waiting at the palace gate – well other than the royal guards – for Lirael. Lirael let Mylla talk to the guards.

Looking up at the palace, Lirael tried imagining living there and struggled. It was just so _huge_. But she at least hoped she could rest there. And take a bath. Lirael had never had much experience with horses, only seeing glimpses of some of the merchant’s horses and during the first few days of travel her thighs had ached and chafed. Every night she had staggered off her horse, which was better than falling on her face – that had only happened on the first night, thank the Charter. The guards had been kind enough to mention that she must be adjusting to riding with only one hand. She was beginning to get used to riding, but a bath sounded _delightful_.

Mylla returned, a weary grin on her face. “Princess Ellimere is in court,” she said, reporting to Lirael. “Prince Sameth is most likely in his workshop. He has barely left the place since he arrived here over a week ago. He had a better journey than us, it seems. The King and Queen are both out of the city, attending to their respective duties.”

_Bath, bath, bath_. “Yes, of course,” Lirael said. She only knew Ellimere slightly but she supposed she ought to get used to having a niece. And Sam was… Lirael shook her head. The guards at the palace probably knew their daily routines far better. Her thoughts drifted to Sabriel. She was probably fighting the Dead, protecting a village. Lirael felt a twinge of guilt that she wasn’t with her. And the king... Touchstone was probably making a new Charter Stone. So many had been lost during the Interregnum, so many had to be restored.

Mylla gave Lirael a wry look. “But I imagine they can be attended to after we unpack. And freshen up. The palace baths are quite extraordinary,” she added, grinning at Lirael as she remounted her horse and gesturing for Lirael and Rafe to follow her into the palace grounds.

Lirael sighed. “Am I that obvious?” She asked ruefully.

Mylla only laughed.

 

* * *

 

The bath had been, indeed, extraordinary.

Lirael had almost followed a man into the baths, before a woman had coughed hurriedly at her. Lirael had blushed deeply and turned quickly away. While there were a few male Clayr, there only a couple baths dedicated to them, half the time full of travellers. Lirael had known to avoid those baths.

Lirael had avoided bathing with anyone, preferring to wait till most of the Glacier was asleep, before slipping into the water, her dark hair swamping around her shoulders. She didn’t care that she had no one to hand her a wash cloth – the Dog had refused on principle – because she didn’t have to compare herself to her tanned, blonde cousins and the constant reminder that they had the Sight and... she did not.

Here she had slipped into the water, biting back a gasp, and closed her eyes. There was no talk about the Nine Day Watch, nothing that reminded of her the Glacier. Strange things were mentioned, festivals she had never heard about, people whose names were foreign to her ears. It was a jumble of information and Lirael did not have enough goal posts to even begin to understand.

After, she wrapped her stump. She got a few curious glances, but Lirael had not been the only one with wounds, both old and new. Still. “Do you think people stared at me?” She asked Mogget. She had simply forgotten he had been in her bag, until she reached for a relatively clean set of clothes. She rather missed the Abhorsen’s sendings. But she supposed she would need to get a new set made, or borrow something that was her size.

Mogget opened one bright green eye a crack. “Possibly,” he said, his tail waving about as Lirael rearranged her bag. She gave him a look and without further prompting, he jumped into her bag. She sighed as she picked it up. It didn’t look like he wanted to leave her, even though she wasn’t doing anything interesting. “But you do bear a passing resemblance to Sabriel. Perhaps they think you’re a long lost cousin. Which isn’t far off,” he reflected.

Then there was a sudden rustling, several people moving to the side of the corridor. Lirael peered over someone’s shoulder to see Ellimere sweep by. Her face lit up when she saw Lirael. “Oh, Lirael!” She called, opening her arms up to swap Lirael in a very warm and very close hug. Lirael started and then put her arms around Ellimere. It seemed to please Ellimere because she squeezed Lirael. “I am so sorry! I just received the message you had arrived. Come, we will have hot drinks in my solar.” She hooked her arm through Lirael’s elbow and started to lead then back where she had come from.

“I was told you were in court,” Lirael murmured, keeping her low, letting her hair cover her face. Now that she was being escorted by the princess she was receiving much more attention than she was used to. It still unsettled her, even though she supposed that as a future Abhorsen she would have to get used to people looking to her.

“Oh I was,” Ellimere said, her voice low. She nodded regally at a woman in a blue velvet cloak. The woman bowed back at her. “My father might be gone, but the throne still has demands on it. The Regent and I handle things for Father,” she paused, a wry expression crossing her face for a moment before a more gentile expression returned. “My brother, as a prince, should be able to attend but he’s always up in his tower.”

“He’s a Wallmaker,” Lirael said quietly. They were now ascending stairs fairly rapidly now and Lirael was sharply reminded of the past few weeks on a saddle. When she next sat down, it was going to be on something cushioned that decidedly _did not_ move, she thought.

“Now,” Ellimere conceded, nodding to a guard. He swept open a blue door. It led to a beautiful room, decorated with rich furnishings and thick carpets. There were several weapons scattered about, a sword or two, a dagger and a bow. Lirael’s toes sank into the rugs and she was grateful that she had decided against putting on her filthy boots and settled for a pair of old slippers. They might not be grand but they weren’t going to stain a princess’ carpet. “But Wallmaker or no, he’s still a prince and he should make some effort of at least eating with everyone else. He has been having all his meals up there, working on something he refuses to talk about. For all I know it could be some kind of silly toy.”

“I don’t think he would do that,” Lirael said, speaking out loyally for Sam. Ellimere gave her a tight stare before laughing and nodding.

“Oh you’re quite right. Perhaps I’m just tired,” she said, sitting on a cushioned armchair and gesturing for Lirael to do the same. Lirael placed her bag by her feet. “I asked Sam, oh, months ago if he could make some racquets for –” she paused, taking in Lirael’s blank look. “Oh a game from Ancelstierre. It’s quite fun and thought my ladies would have a grand time playing. They don’t have a huge amount of games here,” Ellimere said, shaking her head sorrowfully.

“Mogget says I should improve my sword fighting skills,” Lirael said. Ellimere reminded of her aunt in some ways. She was sure if she stayed still enough, quiet enough, Ellimere would sweep her along in some grand plan. “I didn’t always attend my lessons,” she admitted, hanging her head. “And now without the hand,” she gave her stump a brief look, “Well I will have to learn to better and wield the bells.”

“Or you’ll end up a dead Abhorsen-in-Waiting,” Mogget whispered, jumping out of the bag and then started to groom himself. Ellimere looked ready to leap out of her chair, but then relaxed and gave Mogget a nod in greeting. He ignored her, but whether that was his nature or a cat’s natural confidence was hard to tell.

“Hmm,” Ellimere said, leaning back in her chair and tapping her chin with a finger. “My father is an expert swordsman. But the bells would have to be my mother,” Ellimere sighed. “And if you can get them both in the same room for an extended period, I wish you the best of luck. Since the Destroyer was bound,” here Mogget let out a pleased trill, “They’ve been busy. Busier than usual. The Kingdom missed having its King and Abhorsen.”

There was a clatter at the door and the sound of raised voices. Ellimere half rose out of the chair before settling back, her back straight and her expression resolute. Though Lirael noted that there was a sword within reach of Ellimere and that Ellimere had a dagger at her waist. But in the end, it was just Sam. He was grinning, brushing off the guard’s apologies and he had a wooden case in his hand.

“Lirael,” he exclaimed, walking over to and embracing her. Lirael patted him awkwardly on the back with her hand, wishing he had waited until she was at least standing.

“Hello Sam,” she said, brushing her hair out of her eyes. It would be easy to just let it fall, but Lirael thought she should try to be braver around her new found family. “How have you been?”

Sam laughed. “I’m tired,” he admitted, brushing a hand down his stained tunic. Lirael heard Ellimere sigh. Then Ellimere stood up and asked the guard to fetch dinner for her guests. The guard seemed to hesitate before Ellimere declared that the Abhorsen-in-Waiting would keep her safe. Turning pink, Lirael surveyed the well used sword and thought that Ellimere could take care of herself just fine.

“And filthy,” Ellimere said cheerfully, returning to Lirael and Sam with a smile on her face. She then wrinkled her nose. “Oh Sam, I wish you could have washed before joining up. She’s your aunt, you should show her some respect.”

“She’s not that old,” Sam said, shifting on his feet uneasily before shaking off that nervousness. “I came up here, and didn’t bathe,” he said, rolling his eyes pointedly in Ellimere’s direction, “Because I had something important to show Lirael.”

“Oh?” Ellimere said, sounding interested now. “Is it that project you’ve been working on?”

“Yes, Sameth,” Mogget said, emerging from behind a chair and twisting skilfully around Sam’s ankles, nearly causing him to fall. Sam glared at the cat before realising who had spoken.

“Mogget!” He exclaimed. “I never expected to see you hear again,” he said, shaking his head.

“The fish isn’t too bad,” Mogget said, before turning his bright green eyes on Sam and Ellimere. “Though I note a suspicious lack of fish at the moment.”

There was a knock at the door. Ellimere brightened. “Ah! That must be our food.”

Sam looked ready to tear his hair out. Ellimere resolutely ignored his pouting as she directed two servants to lay out the plates. She smiled, helping them, asking one about her betrothed – he was in the Royal Guard – and other about her mother who had been ill. Lirael stared at her lap. Ellimere was _good_ with people. And she didn’t even know to greet them. Even Sam nodded at them as they left. Which caused Ellimere to raise her eyes to the ceiling.

“You should help next time,” she said, placing a drumstick on a plate and putting another in front of Mogget. “No fish this time, I’m afraid. Next time you should come out before I ask for it.”

Mogget watched her for a few seconds before shrugging – an odd motion for a cat – and started to lick and gobble the drumstick up eagerly. Lirael turned away. She was grateful a second later when she saw Ellimere’s expression turned break. Lirael has suspected that Mogget shared similar talents with the Dog. Lirael had always been slightly discomforted when the Dog had shifted a part of her body and not even a Royal upbringing could prepare you for _that_. Muscles and bone shifting, teeth changing shape, all to consume food. Ellimere cleared her throat, looking slightly green.

“Please let me finish,” Sam said, sounding almost despairing. Ellimere flung her eyes up at the ceiling and sighed heavily.

“Very well,” she said wearily, waving her hand at Sam regally. “But please let us eat as well. Lirael has been on the road for weeks and this is the first meal she has had at the palace.”

“It is going to be fantastic!” Sam bubbled, opening the case had brought with him. He rummaged inside, moving aside cream silk clothes, dirty with grease. Lirael ate a carrot as she watched him, savouring the rich gravy that had been poured over it. It was still warm, the best food she had since the Abhorsen’s house. “I had the idea, after you know,” he waved a hand.

“The Destroyer,” Ellimere said patiently, spearing a green gracefully. “Yes, we were all there, Sam.”

“A hand!” Sam exclaimed. He held it with both hands. It was gold and Charter marks ran through it. Lirael recognised a few, but most were unfamiliar. She recognised that it was complex spell work though. It was beautiful, she thought, tears springing to her eyes. Sam had even carved fingernails into it.

“It isn’t ready yet,” Sam said, “I need to take more measurements of your hand, just to be sure. And there are a couple of tests that will need to be done. To make sure it can wield the bells. I was thinking of waiting until Mother came home for that, though.”

“Oh Sam,” Ellimere said. “This is what you were working on all this time?” Ellimere got to her feet and embraced Sam, pulling him into a tight hug. Sam seemed startled by the movement but after a moment he wrapped his arms around Ellimere and returned the hug. “You big fool. I thought it was just another of your toys.”

“I may have been working on one or two of those as well,” Sam said, pulling away a little so he could smile at Ellimere. “But most are useful! There’s a mini map one I’m working on, just when my mind gets overwhelmed by the hand and they’re just toys at the moment. Nothing serious.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Lirael murmured, her eyes on her hand. She looked down and imagined clenching her first, gold fingers moving by her will. It was like something had chimed in her, that this was right and proper. “I would like if you would show me your workshop at some point,” she added.

“That’s great,” Sam said enthusiastically. “Not many people have been interested in the past,” he said ruefully.

“Well that’s all going to change,” Ellimere said, walking over to Lirael and placing a hand on her shoulder, squeezing warmly. “We might even need a bigger one. I’m sure you’ll need lots of space for all your Wallmaker business. Maybe even a few apprentices in the future.”

“Uh,” Sam said, off put by her intensity of her smile. “Sure. We could look into that. In the future. The workshop is fine as it is at the moment.”

“Of course,” Ellimere said, waving her hand. “Now, I was inspired by the Abhorsen’s sendings and I was wondering which new standard you liked best?” Sam stared as she started to unfurl slightly different standards, featuring the symbols of the Royal Family and the now returned Wallmakers.

Lirael hid her smile. It looked like Ellimere was going to embrace Sam being a Wallmaker, just as she had embraced Sam being Abhorsen-in-Waiting. Only this time it wasn’t a role he could escape.

 

* * *

 

Two days after King Touchstone had returned, he sent a message to Lirael, asking her to meet at the training yards. Lirael had never felt at home in the Clayr's training yards and under the open sky, she felt even more exposed.

King Touchstone stood in the centre, fighting off three Royal Guards at once, the sun shining off their weapons when the swords clashed. She shifted on the feet, peering through her hair at the Royal Guards training around her, most them ignoring the presence of the King. Lirael didn't know what to do with her hands – hand, she corrected herself – and she almost wished she had been more an intermittent presence at the Clayr's training yards.

After Touchstone defeated the Guards, he beckoned Lirael to approach.

“My daughter Ellimere said you wanted to brush up your skills,” he smiled, cheeks ruddy after the match. He squinted through the sun at her and Lirael had to steel herself to meet his eyes.

“I thought, without my hand, I would need to,” Lirael said, lowering her head. She had tied her hair back, so she couldn’t rely on it to hide her face.

Touchstone shook his head. “It is useful to be able to switch hands,” he said, “Many a life has been saved by competency in your weaker hand.”

“Sam is building me a hand,” she mumbled and Touchstone nodded. It didn’t seem like it was news to him. Lirael shifted on her feet. Back at the Glacier she had almost felt anonymous, even if she was the dark weed amongst her cousins. Here, the family was so much smaller and while Lirael appreciated the attention, well. It also made her want to hide away, in the deepest depths of the Great Library, where another human hadn't walked for decades.

She looked around the training ground covertly. There were dozens of people around her. And she would be fighting with the King. Everyone would be watching. She started when Touchstone handed her a sword. He grinned at her and rapped her on head with his knuckles.

“Inattention kills,” he said softly, “Sabriel often needs both hands and the bells need a strong hand, or so she tells me,” he said, not showing the characteristic uneasiness that most feel around the necromancer’s bells. “Now, show me your forms.” He rocked back on his heels, eyes serious, giving Lirael his full attention.

The sword was heavy in her hand, though she was meant to wield it with one hand. But she was unused to using her left hand, unused to practising under the full glare of the sun, and unused to the to the clash of swords and the grunts of the practising Guards. After she exhausted what little she knew, she let the sword point fall and turned to face Touchstone. She let her gaze drift to just past his shoulder, avoiding his eyes.

“I, uh, didn’t always pay attention,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ears. Already it was sticking to her skin and Lirael could feel beads of sweat sliding down her back. “I learned many Charter spells,” she added.

“Sam tells me you are a powerful Charter mage,” Touchstone said. “But your forms show promise. You might not be a master swords woman one day, but you need not fear that you will embarrass yourself. After lots of practice of course,” he added grinning, his eyes twinkling above his beard.

Lirael ducked her head as she smiled.

“Now,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “I want you to try and attack me.” In the past, Lirael would have been afraid. Not for herself, but because she never wanted to accidentally hurt the king. Now that she had seen him in action and against three guards, she knew would have a very hard time even getting close. She raised her sword, her arm aching at the heavy weight and considered the king. A bird flew over ]ead when Lirael launched herself and she felt happy when her sword clashed against Touchstone’s.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t imagine you rode much at the Glacier,” Sabriel said, sending Lirael a sympathetic stare. Three days they had left Belisaere, bound for a village that requested help. It was in the north, the closest settlement was Navis. Touchstone had left on one Paperwing and Sam had left on another, bound to treat with the Southerlings though he promised Lirael that her hand would be ready soon.

They had been riding since dawn and it seemed like any resistance that Lirael had built up from her journey to Belisaere had abandoned her during her week or so she had been staying at the palace. It didn’t help that she still felt nervous riding with a bandolier of bells across her chest. She didn’t know how Sabriel rode with such ease.

“No,” Lirael said. “There weren’t many horses. Some of the patrols left the valley. Messengers. Even some of the Clayr left sometimes, if they saw themselves out of the Glacier,” she said, keeping her tone light, even as her thighs ached and she was reminded of her mother. “But I’ll get used to it,” she reassured Sabriel.

Sabriel nodded, smiling. She turned her head, the sun shining weakly on her head, gliding on the few silver strands that were starting to emerge in her thick black hair. A stiff wind picked a few stray pieces that weren’t tightly bound in a braid. Lirael shivered. She might have grown up on a Glacier but the Clayr had never cared for the cold. She must have got that from her mother, she thought, because Abhorsens seemed to go into Death often and it was ghastly cold. Or maybe, she though, grimacing as the hill’s slope steepened and her thighs cried out in pain, they just toughened up.

The village was at the top of the hill. As they approached a sense of dread and unease filled her stomach. When she looked over to Sabriel, her half-sister merely nodded grimly. The village’s Charter Stone had been broken. A necromancer had to be involved. To soothe her unease, Lirael traced her fingers down the bells, from Astarael to Ranna, and she intoned their names in her head. It didn’t hurt so much to think about Kibeth but it still panged.

Shutters rattled in the slight breeze and only a few people staggered out to greet them. It was already late afternoon and Lirael had noticed Sabriel eyeing the sun with some concern. A woman, her hair held back in several braids, bowed as they approached. Sabriel swung off her horse and Lirael slowly followed. The villagers watched her, eyes glancing over the bandolier and her missing hand. Lirael wondered how much they knew, how much of the Destroyer’s binding was known up here.

“Good afternoon,” Sabriel said. “I am Sabriel the Abhorsen. And this,” she said, a small smile appearing on her face, “Is Lirael, the new Abhorsen-in-Waiting.”

“Welcome,” the woman said, still bowing, “I am headwoman Erva,” she leaned forward, offering her forehead. Sabriel grimaced, but touched the Charter mark briefly. It lit up, duller than Lirael had expected but maybe that was because of the broken Charter Stone. Sabriel didn’t seem to think anything was wrong.

“A week ago several Dead Hands attacked the village at night. The Charter Stone was broken in the attack,” Erva added.

Sabriel nodded, as if this wasn’t a new story. “We shall set up a defensive area in the centre of the village. Lirael and I will handle the Dead Hands and the necromancer. However anyone who has fighting skills or is able to use Charter magic, you shall be the second line of defence,” Sabriel said, her mouth a grim line as she met Evra’s stare.

Lirael looked around the village. There were far too many houses, for too few bodies. It was taking all she could not to gag at the pervasive wrongness that was a broken Charter Stone. Then Sabriel was at her elbow.

“Are you alright?” She murmured and Lirael shook her head, waving away Sabriel’s concern. She didn’t want to seem weak in front of her, in front of the whole village. “Good. Touchstone won’t be here until tomorrow or the next day. He’ll be able to restore the Charter Stone but its best if the necromancer responsible is eliminated so they can’t break it again.”

“You think they’re close?” Lirael asking, wondering how Sabriel was able to sense much of anything beyond the stomach churning wrongness of the broken Charter Stone. She swallowed and wiped at her mouth. Her mouth felt dry but she didn’t want to imagine swallowing anything but water.

Sabriel smiled tersely, barring her teeth. “Oh yes, they’re close and they plan on attacking again.” Sabriel threw her head back, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “We will stop them and destroy their Dead Hands while we’re here,” she added. She turned to the village people again. “Hurry, the sun is setting,” she murmured and with that the whole village was in motion.

 

* * *

 

You would think, Lirael thought dryly, that having only one hand would make you better at knowing what to do with your hands. Instead, her hand drifted between the bells and her sword. Lirael shook her head, urging herself to _focus_. Sabriel was standing several paces in front of her, squinting through the light mist with smelled faintly of Free Magic. The necromancer mustn’t be very powerful, Lirael considered, looking around. Or they’re exhausted.

She heard a twig snap and she whirled around, sword in her hand. With a quick motion she dehanded the Dead Hand. It seemed bewildered for a moment before taking another step forward. Dropping her sword, Lirael’s hand went to Kibeth. Using a wide motion, she rang the bell, intoning, “Go to Death and do not tarry.” It reached out for her, before turning in on itself. It had barely been more than skin and bones.

The forest was silent again, except for her breathing. Lirael picked up her sword, running a hand down the blade, watching the marks light up. Lirael looked up and Sabriel gave her a small nod and smile, before walking further into the forest. “They’re close,” she said, her voice eerie in the night, through the mist.

And then the necromancer attacked her. Sword first and Sabriel parried and Lirael saw Touchstone in her arms, in the determined tilt of her sword. But when she attacked it was all Sabriel, bright and vicious. The necromancer, clad in a billowing black cloak that enveloped their form, spat out a Free Magic spell, the words acid in Lirael’s ears. Fire lit up around Sabriel’s ankles. She hissed, Charter marks already forming in the air, ice flaring up around her. Lirael moved closer and attacked the necromancer with a Charter spell, the marks lighting up her sword as it sliced through their body.

They screamed, harsh and loud and Lirael winced. “Watch over me,” Sabriel said over her shoulder, Kibeth and Saraneth in her hands. She swung Saraneth in a wide path and the necromancer froze. “Hear me,” she said, voice matching Saraneth’s tone. “You shall go to Death and pass the final Gate,” Sabriel swung the bell again, the sound tearing at Lirael’s bones, then she performed a complicated gesture that Lirael recognised from the Book of the Dead. Instantly frost started to appear on her brow, on her clothes.

Walking closer to Sabriel, Lirael settled in for a long watch. There could still be Dead Hands about, so she kept a hand on a sword.

 

* * *

 

Touchstone arrived late the next day and it was after dusk when he left the Charter Stone, his face pale and his wrists swathed in heavy white cloth. Lirael and Sabriel sat by a fire, just outside the village. There was more silver in his ear, dark shadows under his eyes, great lines around his mouth. He smiled when he saw Sabriel, tired, but something so pure that Lirael looked away.

“You did good work, Lirael,” Touchstone said, and Lirael jerked her head up. He was smiling at her now, something very different from before, but warm and friendly still. “Sabriel told me you sent a Dead Hand back into Death.”

“Y-yes,” Lirael said, ducking her head. Sent a Dead Hand back into Death? She should be able to defeat necromancers.

“I’ve always wanted to have an Abhorsen-in-Waiting,” Sabriel said softly, fire lighting up her face. “Someone to watch my back, someone to hand the craft down to,” she smiled. “For years I thought it was going to be Sam, going to have to be Sam since Ellimere seemed so suited to being the next Queen. But he was always a surprise,” she said, laughing.

Touchstone was smiling too, ducking his head as he looked at his wife. They had laughter lines as well, Lirael realised, her lips curling up.

 

* * *

 

Lirael sighed heavily as she stared up at Touchstone’s smiling face. He held out a hand and Lirael reluctantly reached out, yelping softly when he hauled her up. More and more she regretted her previous lack of interest in swordplay. She wished that the Nine Day Watch had at least Seen _something_ about her but she supposed then they might have never see her with Nick. Lirael frowned, thinking of the young man. He had barely been alive the last time she had seen him.

“Are you all right?” Touchstone asked, suddenly seriously when he noticed her expression.

Lirael started. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Just... thinking,” she ended lamely, looking away. He nodded as if that made sense.

“You have been working hard,” he said, “Don’t feel so bad about all this,” he said, gesturing to the training yards. During her first week of training with Touchstone more than a few people had gathered to watch the King teach the Abhorsen-in-Waiting. Quickly, they had realised that Lirael had no great talent – other than falling down. Now there was just the odd Royal Guard practising who mostly ignored the King and Lirael. “You’re a greater Charter Mage than Sabriel at the same age,” he said and Lirael gaped.

“I wouldn’t – ”

“She has spent most of her childhood over the Wall,” Touchstone said, “Only able to practice when the wind blew the right way. She learned quickly after that. The Kingdom was a different place then,” Touchstone said, his eyes tightening. “This is your work now, too,” he said, gesturing to the training yard and beyond. “And you’re doing well.”

He said goodbye – he had court, apparently, though Lirael wasn’t sure what exactly it involved but it seemed to take up a lot of his time when he wasn’t needed elsewhere in the Kingdom – and Lirael was left to wander back to her rooms. “The Abhorsen’s rooms haven’t been used in centuries,” Ellimere had said, as she walked Lirael through them, eyeing everything critically. “Mother never used them, of course,” Ellimere said, “So they’ve been a bit neglected. Used for storage. Maybe they expected Sam to move into them one day?” Ellimere shrugged. “But now they’re yours!”

And the Abhorsen's rooms were one of the few places Lirael knew that she would hardly ever be disturbed. Palace servants thought the place was haunted, though of course that ridiculous: the Palace had been purged of any lingering Dead years ago. But only the bravest Palace servants came solemnly to clean, gaze skittering around the place as if the Dead would jump out behind a corner. She had wanted to clean the place clean herself, but Ellimere had insisted that she needed help.

Lirael went scarce around the usual cleaning times, rather than attempting to speak to the servants, disappearing down long disused passageways. Wandering through the hallways, ancient stone pock marked with arrow marks and the odd scorch mark, Lirael could maybe admit cleaning the Abhorsen's rooms was a bit beyond her. Especially with her hand.

Or lack thereof, she thought darkly, looking down at her sleeve. It still seemed so odd that nothing was there. She hadn’t wanted to bother Sam about his hand idea. She had seen false hands before and half the time they had seemed more hindrance than help. But Sam was a Wallmaker. Though she still had only half an idea of what that even entailed. Mogget was no help of course and the Palace’s libraries were... Lirael was sure a recent battle must have taken place there.

The first time she had entered one of the Palace libraries, Lirael had gaped, stunned. Scrolls haphazardly placed on top of books. There were scattered pieces of parchment everywhere, some of which looked like it had once been part of a book. Whole shelves were empty, as if they had been ransacked. Worst of all, Lirael couldn't seem to find any rhyme or reasoning to how everything was ordered. She had dark suspicions that there wasn't one.

The Interregnum wasn't that long ago, Lirael thought. And she supposed defeating the Dead and setting up a functioning kingdom came before an ancient, mouldy library.

And Sam seemed more interested in his ideas that figuring out what a Wallmaker had done in the past. He spent all hours working on her hand – ignoring Ellimere's pointed remarks that _maybe_ finding out Wallmakers did in the past might help the future – fully unfettered from Court protocol.

Lirael frowned. She hadn’t seen Mogget for nearly a week now. He’d decided at the last minute to accompany Sabriel south – “Sam will have to go soon,” Sabriel had said pointedly at her son, who had been dreamily looking out a window, he looked guiltily at her, “The Southerlings made that agreement with you,” Sabriel said, a wry twist to her mouth – and Lirael had wanted to say _something_. But if Sabriel couldn’t take care of Mogget, then _she_ certainly wouldn’t be able to. So she had watched the Abhorsen’s paperwing become a speck in the sky before it had disappeared entirely.

She returned her room and lay on her bed. She fell asleep and dreamed of her mother, cool hands touching her cheeks, a flash of blonde hair that could have _belonged_ to any one of her cousins but wasn't. Lirael woke up, body aching, and an hour hadn’t even passed.

Lirael stared at her hand, stretching and unstretching her fingers. Her mother was more than cool hands, she was calmly telling the Abhorsen – Lirael's father – her vision. She might have disappeared up north when Lirael was young, but she hadn't died for some whim. Lirael rubbed her eyes, feeling useless. Lirael forced herself out of bed because she couldn’t, didn’t want to just lie there.

She walked through the palace, skirting the main hallways because Lirael wasn’t particularly fond of encountering weird courtiers who always wanted her to go to the King about something and most often Lirael hadn’t even heard of what they were even asking. Exclusive wine rights in the west? Sometimes Lirael wished the Clayr had cared a little more about the world outside the ice. She sometimes received odd looks from the servants but now they seemed used to her and ignored her. Lirael found it oddly reassuring.

 

* * *

 

Kibeth the Walker, Lirael chanted in her head. It wasn’t as she could forget the bells. Their names resonated in her head, making her uneasy at first, until she realised she was the only one hearing them. She couldn’t quite let go of the little Dog statute. She knew it was childish, that of course the Dog – _Kibeth_ – had better things to do with her time but she couldn’t help but hold some hope. If the Dog ever decided to come back, Lirael wanted to be close by.

She walked over to a balcony. It overlooked the city and it was still so overwhelming to Lirael. So many people and none of them cousins, she thought with a smile.

Same had received a letter from Nick. It had been on strange paper that had been falling apart by the time Sam received it. Sam had read it to her and it had been so strange and stilted. But Sam had smiled when Nick called him an ‘old chum’ so apparently it wasn’t all awful. The letter ended with Nick wanting to visit the Old Kingdom but he didn’t have the right permits.

“Permits?” Lirael said. “I thought he had an important uncle.”

“Oh that’s part of the problem, I think,” Sam said. “If that very important uncle doesn’t want him to come here – they think we’re barbarians, weird religious customs,” he added, pointing to his Charter mark, “Then he can’t. The Wall is still guarded by Ancelstierre men after all. His uncle probably wants him to follow him in the family business, politics!” Sam said, with a roll of his eyes. “And I suppose there’s lots happening what with the attempted coup.”

Sam sighed heavily and Lirael looked at him curiously.

“I was never a very good prince,” he admitted, fiddling with a piece of wire. “Ellimere seemed to instinctively know what to do and I just – floundered,” he paused. “I never knew what I wanted to do. And now they think I’m a Wallmaker and,” he gestured into the air. “There hasn’t been one for a thousand years! Then there’s the Southerlings,” he said, frowning. “I made the agreement as _Prince_ Sameth.”

“Does the walker choose the path or the path the walker?” Lirael said and Sam stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter.

“We really should make that our motto,” he said musingly. “I suppose I’ve been holding off for other reasons as well. I wanted to finish your hand before flying down there and,” and he met her gaze and Lirael held her breath, “I think it will be ready tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

It was so beautiful that it took Lirael’s breath away. It was a bright gold, powerful Charter marks moved from the delicately carved finger nails to the solid base.

She swallowed and looked at Sam. He smiled gently out to her and Lirael held out her arm. At first she had tried not to look at her arm. It had been easier when she had been wearing tight bandages. When the sendings had bound the wound for her thrice daily. On the road to Belisaere she had been so exhausted from staying on the horse, she had been able to put it away. In Belisaere she couldn’t ignore the whispers, even as she tried to ignore the deep red scars up her arm. She had worried, worried if she could be a good enough Abhorsen when she couldn’t even wield two bells at once. Couldn’t, couldn’t do all the things that Sabriel did.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, biting her lip to ward off tears.

Sam was muttering, Charter marks hung heavily in the air and Lirael only recognised a few: binding and sealing, healing and growth. Her arm was growing warm, the Charter dancing along her skin. Lirael smiled and suddenly she was feeling the warm metal. She blinked and her fingers, her golden fingers, moved.

She stared at it in wonder. The glow of the Charter marks dimmed as Sam finished the spell and Lirael flexed her hand, marvelling at the movement. She looked at her arm, the gold seamlessly joining with her skin like the gold itself was a strange sort of flesh. With her flesh hand she traced the joining and smiled at the same tingling, tickling sensation that happened whether she touched her pale skin or the gold, Charter infused hand.

She was too entranced in her new hand to really notice Sam hovering just above her, his fingers twitching as if he remembered a Charter mark that would have made it perfect.

“You like it?” He asked, looking at her with a worried expression on his face. Lirael looked up, tears welling in her eyes.

“Like it?” Lirael gasped, choking back the sob that was forming in her throat. Sam looked stricken. “Oh Sam, I love it!” She stumbled to her feet, launching herself at Sam and giving him a hug. He started at first, before wrapping his arms around her.

“I'm so glad, Lirael,” Sam whispered into her hair. “I'll need to do some tests, but - ”

He heard the rest of his family last, Touchstone's laugh booming over the sound of Sabriel and Ellimere, though Sabriel was the last one to stop laughing.

“I'm sure some of the tests can wait,” Ellimere said, resting a hand on Lirael's shoulder. Sam and Lirael parted from their embrace and Lirael was quickly pulled into another, Ellimere squeezing her for a moment before resting their foreheads against each other. “It looks beautiful, Sam,” Ellimere said, pulling away and running a finger down Lirael's gold hand. Lirael jerked away and Ellimere looked horrified. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Lirael said, shaking her head and letting her hair fall into her eyes. “It just tickled.”

“I guess that's one test out of the way,” Sam said seriously, but with a smile on his face.

Lirael stretched her fingers, watching the sun glide down. “I'm sure we'll find the time,” she murmured.

There was a knock at the door and a servant entered the room, with an apologetic expression on their face. “Your majesties?”

Sabriel sighed. “I'm sure,” she said, giving her children and Lirael a wry look, “You'll find the time eventually!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to NightsMistress for the fantastic beta.
> 
> The title is from Daughter's Still.
> 
> I originally started this fic in 2015, which, yeah. Who knew that Nix would actually put out another Lirael book so quickly!! So I hope you enjoyed it before it swiftly becomes jossed ^^


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